


if i could have you

by swanboulet



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Adore is a pining mess with some questionable coping mechanisms, Angst with a Happy Ending, Confessions, Gen, M/M, a whole bunch of drinking, throwing up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanboulet/pseuds/swanboulet
Summary: They’re friends. They’re good friends who travel together and work together and share hotel rooms and probably know each other’s worst habits, and it’s really no secret that they share a lot of love. They exchange “I love you”s dozens of times every day. It’s the way Adore means it which has gone unmentioned and unacknowledged for a long, long time now.//or, Adore keeps making choices that aren't all that smart and eventually it catches up to her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> new fandom, who this?
> 
> or, this is me dipping my toe into writing for this fandom because lord knows the world needs more biadore. this is a first for me so any and all feedback is desired and appreciated and will make my day.
> 
> please do know there's a lot of drinking and swearing and some thinly veiled references to questionable sexual habits in there. it all gets worked out, though. 
> 
> (also this is set in some vague present time and in any city that has a hotel and a club, that's truly unimportant here)

Bianca opens her mouth all the way only to bring her teeth back down onto her bottom lip like a guillotine.

Adore stares. Bianca’s wearing nude lip liner and some sort of glittery gloss at the center of her lips. It’s dark beige, or light brown, or something. Adore is too far gone to care.

She blinks a few times and smiles back as Bianca grins and finishes a joke and laughs with her head thrown back. It’s almost too much.

There are nights when post-performance drinks are a good time and everyone goes back to whatever hotel they’re staying at buzzed and tired and ready to do it all over again in 24 hours. And then, there are nights like this.

Bianca is always funny, always brilliant, always so quick on her feet it’s terrifying and most nights, Adore finds it incredible to watch and be a part of. It’s like a masterclass every time, and Adore always ends up reeling from it. It’s a feeling really close to pride, that sense of _Hey this is my friend and she’s so fucking good, look at her go_ ; Adore loves sharing and showing Bianca off to an audience.

But on nights like this, when Bianca’s at the very top of her game, watching her is unbearable. It’s like staring directly into a bright light. Adore can never look away and that's when her need to be so much closer to Bianca rises to the top and is impossible to ignore.

And Adore’s grown to be so good at ignoring her love for Bianca.

They’re friends. They’re good friends who travel together and work together and share hotel rooms and probably know each other’s worst habits, and it’s really no secret that they share a lot of love. They exchange “ _I love you_ ”s dozens of times every day. It’s the way Adore means it which has gone unmentioned and unacknowledged for a long, long time now.

It’s okay, most days.

Now, Bianca is still talking, delivering one of her longwinded stories which is basically a stand up bit, and everyone at their table is laughing. The music is too loud for Adore to hear most of what’s being said, so she’s just watching Bianca and her heavy lashes, and her sparkly lips and her impossibly wide grin.

It’s almost the perfect life. It’d be ideal if Adore could get to snake an arm around her waist and maybe steal a few kisses in between laughs. It wouldn't change much, really, and Adore wants it so much breathing hurts for entirely non-cincher reasons.

This is a bad spiral.

It’s useless and bad when she starts justifying it, when she starts thinking that a few kisses here and there wouldn’t change a thing,

so Adore does what she always does when it starts to happen and excuses herself.  
  


She says something about fresh air, doesn’t wait to see if anyone heard, and heads out of the club.

The smoking area outside isn’t exactly deserted but it’s quieter and Bianca isn’t there, which is all Adore can ask for. It’s much easier to be aware that you’re drunk once you’re away from the booming music and the dim lights inside.

Adore’s watches a group of kids, definitely a few years younger than her, stumble down the sidewalk and thinks she’s lucky she’s great at keeping her balance in heels.

There’s a skinny boy smoking by himself against the side of the building. He has dark skin and ripped jeans, and his tank top is cut in a way which shows off an impressive tattoo covering his ribs. He also looks like the kind of club goer who was definitely there to see the show, and is now trying his hardest to look cool at the sight of Adore by herself, and way from the spotlight.

He even props one of his feet back up agains the wall. He’s a picture of _act cool, act cool, act cool_ and Adore would probably find it annoying if she wasn't in the mood to engage.

So she walks over, shoots him a bright red grin, and asks,

“Do you have a lighter?”

The pretty boy stares, visibly swallows back a “ _Hi Adore oh my god I’m a huge fan the show was great can we take a selfie_ ” and reaches into his pocket, saying instead,

“Sure."

“Fantastic,” Adore draws the word out, and tilts her head to the side. She’s very aware that it looks adorable. “Got a cigarette, too?”

“You really came unprepared, didn't you?” the guy teases, and Adore laughs. This is fine, he’s treating her like an actual person, and it makes her want to play along more.

“You have no idea,” she quips as she pulls out a cigarette from the half-empty pack of Marlboro reds he extends in her direction.  
  


He lights it for her the second it hits her lips which, okay, wow, the guy really is _trying_.

Adore tries not to be the kind of person who does groupies. Truly, she does.

It’s just that she travels a lot and ends up pining and drunk at clubs just as often, and there are people who find her attractive and would like to fuck her there. That’s it — people who dig her. Not groupies.

Adore decorates her “Thanks” in an entire cloud of cigarette smoke because she can be dramatic and hot as if the sidewalk is a stage if that’s what it takes to get her away from this place by time she’s finished the cigarette, god damn it.

“Syd,” the guy says, glancing up to catch her eyes. He'd probably be taller than her if she wasn’t wearing heels. His eyes are brown and they catch the orange light of the street lamp beautifully.

“Adore.”

“I know.”

Adore rolls her eyes and Syd laughs, so she lets him believe she’d been joking.

“So, you come here often?” she tries, and can’t keep a straight face long enough to ask. Syd laughs. Adore’s starting to think he’d laugh at anything she has to say.

“When there’s something good to see,” he smirks, and actually moves a few inches closer.

Adore smokes in silence and blinks very slowly in away that's reserved for the stage and people she wouldn’t mind fucking.

Syd leans with his shoulder against the wall and is now close enough that just one turn would have him directly in front of her and backing her into the wall. That’s not necessarily a bad thing.

“And do you always go out alone, or—“ Adore starts, and she's ready to use whatever answer he gives her to her advantage. Her cigarette is almost done and Syd looks pretty kissable.

“Adore.”  
  


Bianca’s voice comes from the door of the club and Adore freezes.

“Sorry, it’s just my mom,” she says to Syd and he laughs again, and god damn it, will he ever stop laughing?

“Adore Delano,” Bianca repeats. “I got an Uber, come on.”

She’s not asking a question.

The only option Adore’s given is to follow her and for some reason, it pisses her off a little. Usually, Bianca would make a joke about making good choices and let her be, and Adore would roll her eyes and tell her to fuck off, and they’d catch up in the morning.

“He’s like, less than a minute away.”

Adore glances at Syd, and then back at Bianca.

_Fuck_. It was never really a matter of making a choice.

“Sorry. Gotta go,” Adore forces a cutesy smile and leaves a bright red lip print on Syd's cheek before walking away.

It’ll give him enough to talk about.

The car pulls up and Adore follows Bianca in, crushing the cigarette butt under her heel as she goes.

***

Adore keeps herself collected in the car because the Uber driver is looking at them weird and the last thing she needs is to deal with that. Bianca notices his look too, of course, and only says _hello_ when they get in and _thank you, goodnight_ , as soon as they pull up in front of the hotel.

The elevator ride up is quiet. Then, Bianca opens the door to the room and Adore can’t hold back any longer.

“What the fuck was that?”

“He looked dodgy,” Bianca shrugs. She’s sitting at the edge of her bed, undoing her heels’ straps and she answers in the low, detached tone of someone who really doesn’t want to be talking about this.

For a moment, Adore considers letting it go. She’s not entirely sure why she's trying to pick a fight with Bianca but something is picking at the back of her mind, and she’s pissed off, and she’s very much pissed off _at_ Bianca.

She spends a minute having a quiet argument with herself as she wriggles out of her dress and it all bubbles up in her chest. Adore can’t not have this conversation so she whips back to look at Bianca (now eyelash-less and methodically pulling pins out of her wig).

“No, fuck, hold on. What the _fuck_ was that— I was in the middle of something,” Bianca doesn’t answer. “I mean, fuck, Bianca you didn’t even ask if I wanted to go. Which. I didn’t.”

“He didn’t look safe.”

“What do you mean he didn’t— he’s just some kid who came to the show. Jesus!”

Bianca mumbles a reply under her breath in away which seems pointed.

“What was that?” Adore feels her stomach drop as she snaps at her. She doesn’t want to be doing this but it’s already set in motion and it feels oddly cinematic, like she’s somewhere else, watching herself fight. She’s not in control.

“I said,” Bianca bites, “that maybe this isn’t about _this_ guy.”

Her eyes look bigger now that she’s taken her lashes off and Adore wishes she wasn’t glaring at her so she could appreciate them.

“What the fuck.”

“I mean, it was cute at first but you’ve got to stop fucking fans. You know it’d only take one person to start talking on Reddit and—“

“Jesus. Christ. Bianca, fuck, are you _kidding_ me right now?” Adore snaps. She shouldn’t be raising her voice, she really shouldn’t, but damn it, she’s drunk and she’s hurt and she wants to scream. “It’s only happened like, once. Two times—“

“ _That’s two too many_.”

Bianca’s never sounded that harsh. She raises her voice to match Adore and it makes Adore’s head spin. She’d never thought Bianca could genuinely get that angry.

Adore is standing in the middle of the room in all of her undergarments and she feels bare and embarrassed and her cheeks burn. It must be visible through the layers of makeup still on her face.

“I’m sorry I’m such a whore,” she says, and she’d meant it to come out rude and biting but her voice wavers even though she’s still basically yelling. “I’m sorry I don’t live up to your ridiculous standards, I was just having fun, fuck.”

“That whole _live fast die young_ schtick gets real old real quick, Adore,” Bianca says, not missing a beat.

“I do not understand how that’s any of your goddamn business.”

“I don’t want you to end up—“

“I know how to take care of myself.”

“Honestly, right now, I fucking doubt that.” Bianca practically yells at her and it shuts her up. Adore breaks the eye contact, looking down at the floor as she begins to unlace her cincher. Her hands are shaking. She’s chipped a nail.

“I just can’t deal with my alternative being coming back to a goddamn hotel room with you every night.”

Adore starts speaking way before she knows what she’s saying. Her vision goes dark around the edges. _Shutupshutupshutup_.

Bianca, now down to her wig cap, stares at her and it’s angry and sad and Adore wants to throw up, and cry, and never see this conversation through.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means—fuck, Bea. It means some nights I can’t come home and, and, watch you do this,”

(Bianca is rubbing her makeup off.)

“and then go to sleep, while I’m here fucking…wide awake thinking about shit I’m never gonna fucking have ‘cause I’m too fucking scared to even consider… I mean. Fuck.”

(Adore pauses for a shaky breath. Bianca doesn’t say anything.)

“I need something else, sometimes, okay? Of course it's about fucking. And when it’s someone who doesn’t know me but thinks he does and treats me like a fucking celebrity? It’s good. But— Jesus, Bea, I like falling asleep with someone, like… I wanna smoke a fucking joint with someone and crash and wake up in his arms and pretend I’m not flying away in twelve hours, like, _just once_.

I want—“

(Adore’s rapid-firing. There are tears down her cheeks and they’re 90% anger.)

“I fucking wanna _be with_ someone and if I can’t get that in our fucking hotel room, then I will fucking go out and get it somewhere else."

(FUCK.)

Adore stops dead in her tracks. She draws in a very sharp breath and sways a little.

Wigless and bare faced, Roy is staring at her like she’s a disgusting car wreck and he can’t look away.

“I lost you halfway through that whole speech,” the fight is gone from his voice. Under the makeup, he's grown very, very pale. “At least, I think I did.”

“It doesn’t f— doesn’t matter anyway,” Adore wipes her face with the back of her hand. “Whatever. It’s late. Go to bed. I’ll be quiet."

“Adore.”

It’s so much softer this time.

Roy walks over to her. He’s barefoot and so much shorter but Adore feels tiny next to him even as she looks down to catch his eyes.

“I really need to know,” Roy says, and his voice is perfectly level and controlled, and for some reason that makes Adore start sobbing again. There’s definitely mascara streaking down her face and it isn’t pretty. She’s an embarrassing goddamn mess and this is pointless and,

“I need to know. What are you trying to say?”

“Just that—“ she sniffles and reaches up to pull off an eyelash that’s completely unglued. “I wouldn’t be going out to do that shit if I could—“

_have you_ , she doesn’t say, because Roy has closed the distance between her, and he has a hand resting at the curve of her jaw, and is kissing her.

Adore kisses back because her ears are ringing and the world is ending and she might as well kiss back if it’s the last damn thing she does.

Except then the kiss ends and she’s still there, shaking and breathless and her mascara’s on Roy’s cheeks and he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

“Fuck,” she whispers, and reaches a shaky hand to pull her wig off. A bunch of hair pins hit the floor.

“Yeah. Fuck," Roy nods. He doesn’t quite smile but she sees it in the slightest curve of his lips, in the way his laughter lines deepen when he looks at her.

“Come on,” he adds quietly, and his hand is around her wrist, and he’s guiding her to his bed, and all Adore can do is follow. Her head is swimming. Her chest is too tight. She’s pretty sure she’s still crying, and not quite sure why anymore.

Then she finds herself seated at the edge of his bed, and Roy’s hand is tilting her chin up, and he’s cleaning her make up with one of his cucumber-scented wipes. Adore breathes, and breathes, and quiets down by the time his hand runs over her lips to wipe off her lipstick.

Danny has never felt this vulnerable.

His eyes are burning and his entire world has gone tunnel vision, focused entirely on Roy who’s so terrifyingly close. Danny’s mouth tastes vaguely like vodka and borrowed cigarettes and cucumber make up wipes, and it’s not pleasant.

“I must be horrible to kiss right now,” he jokes weakly.

“Yeah, I’m not about to lie to you and tell you it’s like strawberries and champagne ‘cause I’ve wanted it for awhile,” Roy quips back, perfectly deadpan, and Danny is so fucking in love.

“But I have,” Roy adds.

Danny wants to say that could listen to nothing but his voice saying _I’ve wanted this for a while_ for the rest of his life and he’d be okay with that.

“I should brush my teeth,” he says instead.

“Yeah. Do that. You’re a fucking mess.”

  
**  
  
Danny stares at himself in the bathroom mirror as he spits toothpaste into the sink.

In the morning, when they’re sober, they’re gonna have to talk about this.

He’s gonna have to apologize for blowing up.

Now, though, he feels cleaner but his head is still swimming and he doesn’t want to talk at all.

“I made myself look all pretty for you,” he announces as he steps out of the bathroom, because being cute is much easier than being vulnerable. And he’s so damn good at being cute.

He’s down to his boxers and entirely too aware of Roy’s eyes on him as he pads back into the room.

“You’re always pretty,” Roy shoots back. Then, because he’s truly a saint, he adds a much gentler, “But we shouldn’t do this right now. You’re drunk. Shit, _I’m_ drunk. And emotions are clearly heightened— We should go to bed.”

And he’s right, of course. Anyone else would be steering Danny towards a series of horrible choices. But Roy is actually a goddamn angel sent from heaven.

As Roy flips the lights off, Danny walks over to his bed, and then he hears a laugh in the dark.

“What the fuck are you doing? Don’t be an idiot. Come over here.”

Realizing what Roy meant takes a second.

Danny’s not used to having a middle ground between reckless, raw lust and absolute rejection, and it makes his heart sting in a way he’s definitely not about to acknowledge. Instead, he walks over to Roy’s bed and climbs in, and it’s so simple and so fucking overwhelming.

“I should’ve picked a fight fucking—“ _years_ “—a while ago.”

“God, do you ever shut up?” Roy exhales a laugh and pulls him into his side.

“I talk when I’m nervous.”

“Shut up.”

Roy kisses the top of his head, and Danny shuts up.

He’s so tired. His body is so heavy.

They’re gonna have to figure this out and talk, really talk, and he knows this whole conversation isn’t over at all yet. But now Roy’s arm is around his shoulders, and it’s hard to hold on to thoughts for too long, and it's all gonna have to wait.

Danny drifts off with his head on Roy’s chest.

There, he can feel Roy’s heart racing even as they lie still and quiet,

and he just thinks to himself,

_same_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after: an update

Danny has uneasy dreams about screaming and feels the nausea coming on before he’s even fully awake.

The night before comes back to him in nightmarish flashes: 

_a pretty boy with orange eyes, a demon behind the wheel of an Uber, yelling at Bianca._

His head pounds. 

“Fuck,” he groans, and tries to roll over, but theres a heavy arm resting over his ribs. He doesn’t remember fucking anyone but it’s not entirely impossible, and he needs to move, _now_. 

Danny presses his eyes shut even tighter, and more flashes flood his mind:

_Bianca yelling back, Roy’s hands on his wrists, Danny’s own bloodshot eyes judging him in the bathroom mirror._

He feels sick and the reasonable part of his brain is urging him to get up and get himself to the shower.

Somewhere in the room, a phone rings with a text alert - it’s crisp and high-pitched and feels like a punch to the temple.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Danny repeats, and forces his eyes open.

Roy is inches away, blurry, sleeping, and stunning.

_Sobbing in Roy’s arms, the tightness in his chest as he spoke at Roy, crawling into Roy’s bed._

“Fuck.” 

Danny’s ears ring when he darts up and his vision goes almost all black as he stumbles to the bathroom. 

His knees hit the floor with enough force to jolt him fully awake right as he coughs and vomits violently into the toilet. Right now, even having made it there is a victory.

Danny whimpers and reaches blindly to flush before resting his head against the side of the bowl. The porcelain is cold and comforting and he feels pathetic enough to want to curl up and maybe rest there for a while. 

He doesn’t trust his legs enough to move right now, anyway.

“Do you need anything? Water?” 

Danny forces one eye open just enough to see Roy standing in the doorway. He doesn’t attempt a joke or make fun of where Danny’s at, which for some reason makes Danny’s stomach contract again. 

“Just—“ he starts, slowly. His throat feels raw. He does need water, and he’s embarrassed to ask. ”Uh. How much did I fuck up last night?”

Roy stares down at him and his shoulders drop. He mouths something that looks terribly like _Oh— okay_ to himself and then takes a cautious step into the bathroom. 

“How much do you remember?”

Danny takes his time before answering. He takes a few breaths in through his nose, makes sure he’s not about to throw up again, and shifts carefully to sit with his back against the toilet bowl. The tile is cold against his thighs and he's suddenly all too aware that he’s almost entirely naked. 

It’s nothing Roy hasn’t seen before but it makes him look even more like an anti-alcohol PSA and he feels so ridiculous he’d probably laugh at himself if he wasn't preoccupied by a thick cloud of anxiety rising up from his lungs and threatening to choke him. 

“I— fuck. I remember us fighting. And I’m sorry. I uh… I didn’t overstep any boundaries, did I?”

“That’s debatable.”

Roy breathes out his reply in an almost-laugh and Danny is panicking. Why is Roy laughing at him?

_(his mind flashes to the orange-eyed boy from his dream. He’d been laughing. Why is everyone laughing at him?)_

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I—“

“You’re good. You’re good,” Roy approaches him quickly to crouch beside him and look him in the eye. Danny holds his breath. “You didn’t do anything bad. Just kinda— said what I’ve been thinking for a while.”

He cracks the smallest, gentlest smile and the flash comes, 

_Roy’s lips on his, vodka and cigarettes and cucumber, his mascara on Roy’s face, Roy’s lips, Roy’s lips, Roy’s lips._

“Fuck. Oh,” Danny whispers, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. It’s greasy and gross and his stomach does another dangerous flip. He’d been dreaming about this for literal _years_ and when it’d finally happened, it’d been like this, and he’d been fucked up enough to forget it.

It feels horrible.

“Shit. It came back to me,” he adds, dropping his hand from his hair to the bridge of his nose. Every single part of his body hurts.

“Yeah?"

“Yeah—shit. I…wish I could’ve done that differently?”

Roy is completely quiet for a moment, and then he laughs. An actual, genuine laugh which lights up his eyes and brings out the dimples and Danny feels just a little bit less dead.

“I mean, it _was_ very Adore. Wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” Anyone else saying that would probably deliver it as an insult. Roy, somehow, makes it sound like _very Adore_ is the most incredible thing a human being can be.

Danny can’t comprehend it at all but it makes his heart swell. 

“We should really talk,” he says quietly. “I wanna— make sure I say it right.”

He doesn't remember the last time he’s wanted anything as badly as he wants to have this conversation when his head is clear and he can get the words out.

“Just uh—“ he wants to say _let me shower and look less gross_ but Roy’s ten steps ahead of him. Of course. 

“How ‘bout you sort yourself out and I’ll call up room service and get breakfast? You gonna be okay here?” 

Danny can only nod. 

Roy is still smiling his saint-like smile when he places a kiss in Danny’s messy, disgusting hair and then gets up to leave the room.

 

**

 

Danny stands in the shower for what feels like an hour. He scrubs his skin clean and washes his face twice, until the water runs clear without a hint of last night’s foundation. 

His mind is full of the things he needs to say, and there’s so much. The last thing he wants is to deliver some saccharine last-15-minutes-of-a-romcom speech, but there’s a lot that needs to be said. 

So he formulates and re-formulates it under his breath as he walks back into the room and throws on the first pair of cut-off jeans and a tank top he finds in his suitcase.

Roy is sitting at the foot of his bed with a large cup of coffee, and he's quiet and patient and Danny can feel him watching his every move anyways.

“Ready to talk?” Roy asks finally, and then adds a lighter, “There’s French toast.”

Danny has a speech prepared.

Roy is looking at him expectantly, and his eyes are so wide and soft, and Danny opens his mouth to give the speech and, 

“I’m in love with you.”

“Oh.”

“I, uh— I had this whole thing I was gonna say. But that’s it. I’m in love with you. Have been. For a while.”

Danny’s shaking a little. His hair is dripping onto his shoulders and it’s uncomfortable.

Roy’s quiet for a second and it’s the hardest silence Danny’s ever had to endure. His head is spinning so incredibly fast and he lowers himself onto his own bed because balance is too much to ask for. 

“Damn,” Roy says finally. He’s smiling. 

Danny’s world slows down.

“Well thank God. I was beginning to think I’d never get to hear that.” 

Danny laughs. It’s sob-like and shaky but he feels lighter now. 

“So does that mean—“ he starts, and his face feels like it’s burning. 

“Jesus Christ. Yeah. Yes. I love you.” 

Roy licks his lips like he wants to taste the words and make sure they’ve been said. Danny wants to taste them there, too. 

There’s a recklessness that comes with the realization that with all of their cards on the table, nothing is stopping him now.

“Put that coffee down,” he says quietly, and uses the time it takes Roy to do that to slide off his mattress, and cross the small distance between the two beds.

Roy places his mug on the floor and looks back up at Danny, and Danny places his hands at the sides of Roy’s face and pulls him up into a kiss he’s been fantasizing about for years. 

Roy brings a hand up to Danny’s damp hair and tugs just a little, his other hand finding its way to the small of Danny’s back. It guides Danny down and he ends up with his knees on both sides of Roy’s body, and it’s not even ten in the damn morning, and Danny’s definitely grinding down as he kisses him again and again and again, and his ears are ringing. 

Then Roy pulls back.

His hand traces the side of Danny’s face, and he rubs his thumb along his bottom lip. Danny only half-fights the impulse to bite down.

“We should fuck,” Roy muses, quietly. “Like, now.”

Danny throws his head back and laughs as he nods, and Roy takes that as an opportunity to kiss down his neck.

 

**

 

Katya’s the first to notice.

Adore’s a redhead tonight and she’s basically in lingerie and fishnets with some cut up flannel thrown on top to make it a real look. Her lips match her hair, and there’s a fresh bruise right above her collarbone.

She’s made a half-assed attempt at putting some concealer on it but it’s obvious she didn’t really try or want to hide it.

“Holy fuck, girl, what happened to you?” Katya grins, and she makes a show of leaning forward as if they’re about to gossip in the wings while there’s a show going on on stage.

“I’ve been having a fucking _day,_ ” Adore announces triumphantly. 

On stage, Bianca says something that makes the club crowd scream, and Adore joins them and hollers obnoxiously from her spot. 

Bianca glances back at the wings for a split second, and throws her a wink.

Katya _stares._

“ _No fucking way_ ,” she says, dropping her voice to a dramatic stage whisper. 

Adore bites down on the straw of her cocktail as she tries, and fails, to hold back her grin.  
  
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about,” she mumbles around the straw,

and she looks back at the stage and Bianca,

and she grins, and grins, and grins.

 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @ swanboulet.tumblr.com xo


End file.
